


Misunderstandings Abound

by StarsandJellyfish



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coming Out, First Kiss, Getting Together, Good Sibling Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25182403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsandJellyfish/pseuds/StarsandJellyfish
Summary: Sam seems to be going through a period in his life in which everyone misunderstands each other. First, there's Dean, who learns something new about Sam. Then there's Sam, who hears awful news that he never wanted to hear. Then, there's Castiel, who doesn't understand why Sam is so upset. Will they talk it out, or will they stew in their own misery? It's a tough decision, but it could give Sam and Castiel something they both want dearly.
Relationships: Castiel/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 37
Kudos: 97





	1. Crowley Wasn't Lying

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I hope you enjoy this work. It's my first Sastiel piece, so I hope it's not too bad. I have written the whole story, so there's no need to worry that it will go unfinished. I hope you enjoy it, and please feel free to leave reviews if you want to. :) Thank you for reading! Enjoy!

Crowley Wasn’t Lying

Sam watched Castiel leave their motel, disappointment sinking his stomach like a stone. Ever since Castiel had saved them by killing Billie, Sam had started to feel something other for Castiel, something more than just friendship, brotherhood. What he felt now was desire, love. Because of that, whenever Castiel left to go and do his own thing – and he did that a lot, Sam didn’t resent him for it – Sam felt his insides sinking, his heart wishing that the angel would come back.

A snort drew him out of his thoughts.

Confusion furrowing his brow, Sam turned to his brother.

Dean was sitting on a sagging bed, the only one in the room. They’d tried to get a room with two queens, but apparently the place was sold out. From the smirk on the teenage girl’s face who booked them in, Sam wasn’t so sure that was the case. Sam himself was sitting at their rickety table, pointedly ignoring his own reflection in the large mirror on the opposite wall, easy to do with Dean sitting in his way.

As Dean began to shake his head, almost sadly, Sam couldn’t help but watch in confusion.

“What?” he asked eventually, almost snappish. He hadn’t meant to sound like that, but Dean could be so annoying sometimes, especially when he was acting like he knew something Sam didn’t. “What are you shaking your head like that for?”

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean’s grin was teasing. Grimy windows didn’t let in all that much light, and the sconces weren’t doing a very good job of lighting the room, but Dean’s grin was brilliantly bright, enough that it brought some sunshine into the room itself. It made Sam suspicious. “You can’t tell me you don’t see it.”

“See what?” Sam asked, wanting to flop backwards. He couldn’t, still perched upon his chair, but he let himself imagine just briefly falling backwards chair and all, sprawling on the ground and laying there limply for a while. After the hunt they’d just had, it would be a kind of comfort, a kind of prize. Relaxation. It sounded nice. “Dean, it was just Cas.”

Silently, Sam hoped Dean didn’t notice Sam’s feelings for Castiel. If his brother knew how Sam felt for him, he’d never be able to live it down. Dean’s teasing would come from all sides, all the time. While Sam knew that it was Dean’s way of saying he was okay with it, that he didn’t mind, it would still be awkward and embarrassing, not to mention Sam would fear Castiel ever overhearing. Sam wasn’t stupid; he knew that if Castiel ever found out how Sam felt, how ‘the Boy with the Demon Blood’ felt about him, he’d run screaming for the hills. Or maybe he’d just take Sam out. Sam didn’t know.

“I know it was Cas,” Dean was still smirking, crows feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “But Man, did you see the look on his face? He’s got it bad.”

“Got what bad?” Sam asked, tilting his head to the side at his brother. Dean, on his part, merely raised an eyebrow. Righting his head, Sam tried to get the hot flush that rose in his cheeks under control. Maybe he’d picked up a few too many of Castiel’s mannerisms from watching him discreetly. He’d have to keep careful track of that. “Dean, he looked happier than I’ve seen him in months.”

“I didn’t mean his hunt, idiot,” Dean fell backwards on the bed, folding his hands under his head. Green eyes stared upwards, watching the ceiling. From his own careful studying of it the night before, possible monsters dancing through his mind, distracting him from thoughts of Castiel, Sam knew that the ceiling was mostly bland, boring. There was a giant crack running through it, though it didn’t look structurally unsound. It was just paint, poorly applied. Dean’s voice drew Sam back to the present, “He’s got it bad for _you_.”

“For _me_?” Eyebrows flying upwards, Sam let his eyes dart back to his brother. Gaze fixed on Dean, Sam didn’t watch as his nails dug into the sticky surface of the desk, as they managed to embed themselves so deep that splinters lifted out of the wood, jamming under his nails. He hissed in surprise, wrenching his hand back. Calming himself, he told Dean, “He doesn’t have a thing for me, Dean.”

“Yeah he does,” A lazy hand dismissed Sam’s words, before being tucked back under Dean’s head. “He’s been watching you the whole time he’s been hunting with us. It was weird, Man.”

“Weird?” Sam wrinkled his nose, then pressed his lips together tightly. “He was probably just keeping an eye on me, making sure I didn’t mess up or something.”

Green eyes flicked to Sam, studying him with no small amount of confusion. “Why would he do that?”

Setting his chin, Sam refused to answer that question. Dean knew precisely why Castiel would be watching Sam, would be making sure that he didn’t do anything outside of what he had been told, or if he did, that it didn’t cause any problems. Both Castiel and Dean had been of the opinion that Sam couldn’t be trusted once upon a time. Sam wouldn’t be surprised if they both carried those feelings today, even if they told themselves that wasn’t why they were watching him. Sometimes, it made Sam’s skin crawl, like thousands of bugs were writhing upon him.

Clenching his teeth, Sam stood from the chair, ignoring the creak. If it didn’t collapse when he sat on it, it wouldn’t collapse when he got up. Instead, he head over to the window, pushing the horrible red curtains aside to reach the lace ones underneath. They caught on the callouses on his skin, making it difficult to let go of them properly, wisps of thread still holding on determinedly to his fingers. Eventually he got them untangled, fraying threads waving in the breeze as he opened the window, breathed in the soothing scent of summer, leaves on trees and waving flowers.

After a while, Dean broke the silence.

“It’s sad, really,” he said. Glancing over his shoulder, Sam saw that Dean had turned onto his side, was studying Sam carefully. “He doesn’t have a chance.”

At that, Sam was forced to turn, eyebrow cocked at Dean.

“I mean, you’re not…” Grasping for words, Dean moved the hand he wasn’t lying on out, like he could pluck the phrase he wanted from the air. Mouth opening and closing a few times, a fish searching for sustenance, Dean eventually gave up and shrugged, said, “You’re not gay.”

“What?” Dean was right, Sam _wasn’t_ gay. But that didn’t mean he didn’t like guys. Which Dean knew, Sam was sure. “I’m confused.”

“Well, Jess,” Dean rolled onto his back, ticking off names on his thumb. “Lori, Sarah, Maddison, Ruby,” Sam winced, but Dean ignored it. Almost every name he ticked off would have bad connotations. “Kara, Amelia, Eileen… That waitress, while we were fighting the Werepire.”

“Piper,” Sam told him, taking a few steps back into the room. Sitting back down – slowly, because the chair _was_ unsteady – Sam asked, “Should I be concerned that you remember so many of the people I’ve… had a thing with?”

“Nope,” Dean popped the p, grinning like an idiot. “I’m your big brother, Sammy. It’s my job.”

“Right,” Sam nodded slowly. An expression of worry and confusion both spread across his features, but he let it slide off again. “But that wasn’t everyone, Dean. You missed out a few people.”

“Oh yeah?” Eyebrow raised in challenge, Dean rolled back towards Sam. From all the moving Dean was doing, Sam could tell he was restless. Dean had barely got a lick in during their hunt the previous night. Sam wasn’t hurt either, but he’d done most of the work, so he was worn out. Clearly, Dean was still itching for something to do, the whole reason they’d left the Bunker to stay in a dank motel in the middle of nowhere in the first place. “Who?”

“Well, for starters, Tyson,” Sam ticked him off on his own thumb, watching with some amusement as Dean’s face cycled through a few expressions, before finally landing on realisation.

“Tyson?” He asked, brows furrowed. “You mean that guy the demon was wearing as a meat suit?” At Sam’s pained nod, Dean’s eyebrows raised, his eyes widening with what looked to Sam like shock. “You mean Crowley wasn’t joking about that?”

“No?” Sam couldn’t help but make his answer a question. Why would Dean think Crowley was joking? “I really did date him, before… You know. He was possessed. And I didn’t realise.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about that,” Dean told him, picking at the cream embroidery on the bedspread. A few strands unravelled, tugging furrows in the red covers. “You didn’t know. Demons weren’t a big thing for us back then.”

They paused in their conversation, both needing time to process. It said something to Sam, that while Dean was learning new things about him, things he apparently hadn’t known – and really, how could he not? Sam hadn’t been _hiding_ this from Dean, though he hadn’t been shouting it, either – Dean’s first instinct was still to reassure him, was still to tell him that mistakes he made weren’t his fault. It was humbling, in it’s own way.

As they sat there, neither of them talking, the silence in the room began to grow oppressive. Shifting in his seat, Sam clenched the arms with fear when he heard an ominous creak and crack, but when the chair didn’t give out on him, he resettled into it. Boots scraping rubber scuff marks onto the floorboards – Sam couldn’t feel bad about that, not with the weird orangey stain on them by the bed – Sam drew patterns on the floor with his feet. All he could hear from the bed was the plucking sounds of more threads being pulled out, Dean apparently determined to ruin the polka-dot pattern on the sheets.

Eventually, Dean cleared his throat and licked his lips, wetting them before saying, “So you had an experimental phase in college?”

“No, Dean,” Sam shook his head, sending his brother a soft smile. “It wasn’t experimental. It was just my first boyfriend.”

“First?” Dean asked, sounding surprised.

Sam shrugged. He had to give him that. 

“Okay, and my only,” he offered, face heating up. Surprised that he hadn’t broken out into a sweat yet, Sam tugged a little at his collar. “I didn’t really have a chance for actual relationships after that. But…”

“But you’ve slept with a few guys?” Dean asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, “Though you’re probably not going to like who.”

“Sam?”

Looking up at the ceiling, letting his eyes stare into the very depths of the crack there, Sam told him, “Gabriel. Balthazar. Mick.”

“What?”

“I said Gabriel, Balthazar and Mick.”

“I heard what you said, I just…” Dean was clearly trying to be supportive, but the face he was pulling told Sam exactly what he thought of his previous bed partners. Sam didn’t blame him. He didn’t always have good taste. “ _Them_ , Sam? Really?”

“Okay, well, Mick turned out to be on our side, before they killed him.” Sam defended, looking anywhere but at Dean. “As for Gabriel, it was before Mystery Spot.”

“Right, and Balthazar?” Dean asked. To Sam’s surprise, he actually sounded amused. Eyes darting to his brother, he could see the faint up-curl of his lips. Cautiously, a matching smile drew up on his own face, though Sam’s was probably marred by worry.

“I don’t know…” Sam shrugged, lifting his hands and dropping them into his lap, nothing to offer Dean. “I guess… It seemed like a good idea at the time?”

“Huh, a good idea?” Dean nodded sagely, as if Sam had said something incredibly wise. “Well, alright then.”

It wasn’t long before a snort escaped Dean, then a raspberry.

When Sam looked over, Dean’s face was bright red. Green eyes shining with unshed tears, muscles tensed almost painfully tight, Dean lay there on the bed. Amused, Sam pursed his lips, trying to give Dean one of his patented ‘bitch-faces’ as his brother called them. All that happened was that he, too, was left trying to contain his laughter.

Their eyes met. It was all over.

As one, they let out laughs. Sam’s was quieter, but Dean’s was bellowing. In all honesty, Sam hadn’t seen Dean laugh so hard in such a long time. Even if Dean was laughing at Sam’s sexual history, Sam was pretty sure it was worth it just for the clear joy Dean was filled with. Rolling around on the bed, clutching his stomach and gasping ‘Sammy’ between each stuttered breath, Dean let tears leak from his eyes, rolling down his cheeks. The light caught on them, making them sparkle like diamonds. The clear joy his brother was feeling was rubbing off on Sam, letting him release a tear of his own.

Finally, together, they got all their laughter out. Breathing heavily, both still clutching at their stomachs, they let silence fill the room once more. This time it wasn’t awkward, wasn’t tense. Neither of them spoke, though through the open window noises floated in. The hum of a distant lawn-mower, the excited cries of children running around outside, the whisper of a soft breeze. Almost matching smiles adorned their faces (Dean didn’t have dimples, after all) as they relaxed where they were, limp.

Eventually, Dean spoke up again.

“So, what?” he asked, turning his head to look at Sam. Sam didn’t raise his head up from where it had fallen on the back of the chair, though he did roll it around so he could see his brother. “Is this your way of saying Cas has a chance?”

“I mean,” Sam shrugged, seriousness descending onto him once again. He sat up, leaning forwards. Fingers tangled together, he let them hang between his knees, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Yeah. Yeah, if Cas had a thing for me, then yeah.” Dean’s eyes lit up. “But he doesn’t, so it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m telling you, he does,” Dean insisted, drawing his knees up so he could place his feet flat on the bed. Sam wanted to shove them off, Dean’s heavy boots getting mud all over the covers, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Glancing at Sam, Dean held up a commanding finger. “I do have one condition. He can’t hurt you.”

“Well, like I said,” Shrugging, Sam leaned back in his chair again, trying to shake off the dejected feeling that was trying to engulf him. “He doesn’t have a thing for me. I don’t know what you’re seeing, dude, but it’s not there.”

“You calling me a—” he broke off, looked at Sam in confusion. “What are those girls called, the ones that have opinions on who we should date in the Supernatural books. Like, Marie and all those?”

“Fangirls?” Dean shook his head, tried to give a better explanation. Hoping his next guess was better, Sam asked, “Shippers?”

“Yeah, that” Dean poked an enthusiastic finger Sam’s way, making Sam’s eyes widen in shock. “You calling me a shipper, Sammy?”

“Um, I guess?” Sam sent a smile Dean’s way, sinking down in his chair far enough that he could stretch his leg out, press his boot against Dean’s thigh and push. Both of Dean’s knees went careening down, forcing Dean’s body to roll away from him. He threw a middle finger at Sam over his shoulder, before rolling back around. “There’s nothing there, Dean.”

“Not what I see,” Dean shook his head, folding his arms. “But whatever you say, Sam.”

“Such a jerk,” Sam told him, purposely shoving down the hope Dean’s words were giving him.

“So?” Dean asked, wrestling with the covers, the pillows and the sagging mattress. Somehow, he managed to get himself into a sitting position, though from the way the bed was sagging, it didn’t look comfortable. It was clear he was just about to say something else when he caught sight of the boot-print on his thigh, thick mud caking on the denim. “And _you’re_ such a bitch, Sam. Look at this!”

He held his hands out flat, framing the boot mark. Sam’s only response was to laugh.

Dean, crowing his glee, reached out and caught his fingers around one of Sam’s ankles, yanking it towards himself. Startled, Sam let out a cry and tried to grab on to something, anything, but he didn’t manage it. Instead, Dean tugged him forward, hopping and wobbling, until he crashed down on the bed. Arms wrapped around him, getting him into a headlock, before Dean’s knuckles were digging into the top of his head.

“You little bitch,” Dean declared, laughter in his voice. Sam struggled, trying to break Dean’s hold, but without hurting his brother, it was impossible. In the end, he gave up, allowing the treatment instead. “I’m gonna get you back for that, Sam.”

“Aren’t you already doing that?” he asked, confused.

Turning his head with some difficulty, Sam saw his brother’s face. His nose was wrinkled, his eyes gleaming playfully, but there was something else there, something deeper. It spoke of a determination, though Sam wasn’t sure what for. He just hoped Dean wasn’t going to try and prove Castiel _did_ love Sam, for everybody’s sake, not just his own. Sighing, Sam relaxed his muscles, sinking into the bed once Dean released him. Everything would make itself clear soon, he knew. Until then, he would just have to cross his fingers and hope for the best.


	2. Eavesdroppers Never Hear Anything Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam eavesdrops on a conversation between Castiel and Dean. He hears something that leaves him in some turmoil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. I hope you enjoy this chapter. The only thing worth noting is that this fic does take place in an canon divergence universe in which, after destroying Michael, Chuck didn't decide to go all Big Bad on the boys. Instead, Jack's powers were lost, he kept his soul and everyone lived happily ever after... or something? I'm sure there's still things for the boys to fight, but they're more settled, now. 
> 
> Anyway, like I said, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Voila!

Eavesdroppers Never Hear Anything Good 

Sam slowed to a jog, taking deep, measured breaths. He’d been for a jog around the Bunker, wearing his full jogging kit even though it made Dean tease him like mad. It was pouring outside, the ground too slippery and the raindrops too chilled to go for a comfortable run. Ordinarily, he would have been outside anyway, but Castiel had come to stay in the Bunker for a few days, and the angel always worried for Sam when he was out running in the wet. It warmed Sam’s heart in a way, while also making him itch at the restrictions put on him.

In compromise, Sam jogged around the extensive passageways of the Bunker, unable to go as fast due to the sudden twists and turns, not to mention the somewhat slippery flooring. Ever since Dean had gone on a spring cleaning rampage and polished all the floors to within an inch of their lives, Sam had found that even walking could be hazardous in some of the lesser used corridors. Dean called that success, but Sam just called it a health hazard. He knew why his brother had done it – stress was a difficult thing for Dean to work out without killing anything – but still. There was a kid in the Bunker now, and Jack often lashed out when he was hurt.

Slowing to a fast pace, then to a stroll, Sam regained his breath. He’d come to a stop in the corridor right outside the library. It was where he had last seen Castiel, reading through the books Sam had put to the side for him. One of their favourite shared activities was sitting in the Bunker, reading books of lore and history and talking about them. At least, it was one of Sam’s favourite activities. He supposed Castiel must have liked it somewhat, otherwise he wouldn’t stick around to participate, surely?

Sam didn’t know. Sometimes, he thought Castiel only stayed around him for Dean.

Speaking of Dean, Sam had spotted him through the doorway, a plaid shirt of Sam’s hanging off his shoulders. Rolling his eyes, Sam realised that Dean must have forgotten to do the washing again. He didn’t normally steal Sam’s clothes, especially not that maroon and orange garment. In fact, Dean tended to mock Sam for it, and Sam _did_ know why. The shirt was ugly, that was for sure, but it was pretty difficult to find cheap clothing in his size, a fact Dean often forgot.

Pausing outside the doorway, Sam peeked around the corner.

Castiel was sitting across from Dean, book still splayed across his lap. His coat was crumpled around him, looking cleaner than it had in a while. Stifling a laugh at the put upon look on Castiel’s face, Sam realised Dean had got to Castiel on his cleaning kick, had forced the angel to let him wash his greying coat. From the looks of things, the coat was still damp and irritating him.

Finger keeping his place in the book, Castiel was watching Dean with bright blue eyes, a confused eyebrow cocked. Instead of tilting his head to the side like usual, Castiel was only staring, blinking slowly as Dean spoke. That was unusual; Castiel must have been particularly bewildered by what Dean was saying, if he was freezing like that.

Biting his lip, Sam decided to listen in to their conversation.

Making sure he was still concealed in the shadows of the corridor, Sam curled his fingers around the edges of the doorframe and moved in closer, turning his head towards the door. Hair muffling the sound, he cursed silently under his breath and reached up to tuck the strands back. They tickled the back of his ear, but the tucked back position of the strands did allow him to hear the conversation more clearly.

“I know,” Dean was saying, voice low. From Sam’s vantage point, he could see his brother’s eyes darting around, as if looking for eavesdroppers. It never occurred to him to look at Sam’s corridor, unused as it usually went. “Castiel, I know you have a thing for Sam.”

The angel sucked in a breath, surprising Sam. Castiel didn’t need to breathe. To do so must have meant Castiel was surprised, possibly outraged. Sam hoped it wasn’t the latter, though he couldn’t see how it could have been anything else.

Hoping to hear the truth, hoping against all hope that he might hear that Castiel cared for him, desired him, Sam leant further forwards, ears straining to hear their hushed discussion.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Dean.” Castiel’s voice was flat. Blue eyes were fixed on the words on his page, not moving. Sam knew it, could feel it in his chest, beating with his every heartbeat. Castiel was lying. But was that a good or a bad thing? “I have no ‘thing’ for Sam.”

“Cut the crap, Cas,” Dean bit back, though it was much more good-naturedly than Dean would normally use when people were lying to him. Dean and Castiel had a special bond between them, one that Sam prayed would never break. Readying himself for if things went too far, if Dean pressed too hard against any raw wounds Castiel might have, Sam tensed his muscles. He was prepared to jump in if necessary. Sometimes, Dean could be abrasive, more so than his brother seemed to believe. “I know you have a thing for my brother.” Dean confided, practically flattening himself across the table towards Castiel. “I saw you on that last hunt. You were watching him.”

“Perhaps I was merely watching him to make sure he did not get hurt,” Coolly, Castiel closed the book in front of him, not bothering to use a bookmark. It was a habit that often frustrated Sam, Castiel remembering page numbers like that, both because Sam didn’t have that ability (too many other things on his mind), but also because it meant Sam couldn’t tell where Castiel had got up to in a book. Often, Castiel had taken to leaving a vibrant sticky-note atop, informing Sam of what page he’d reached. He didn’t this time, too distracted. Sam leaned forward again, practically plastered to the wall next to the door frame by that point. “Your brother does have a habit.”

“I know,” Dean growled. Sam watched as his eyes dropped to the table, frustration furrowing his brow. “I wish he’d stop.”

“Your brother puts himself in danger to save lives, Dean, just as you do,” Castiel reminded him gently.

The defence warmed Sam up, left him feeling as if he had a glow running through his veins. Hearing a compliment from the man – angel – he loved was rare, but a pleasant thing when it happened. Sam knew why it didn’t happen often, why it couldn’t, but he kept pushing those fears down. It didn’t do to remind himself of what a monster he was every day. He’d never save anyone that way, wrapped up in his own self-loathing to the point of inaction.

Sighing, Sam pressed his forehead to the wall, wishing Castiel would get to the point sooner rather than later. If Castiel had a thing for him, Sam would be more than happy to learn about that. Hell, he’d step right out into that room and confess his own feelings for the angel right there. If he learned that Castiel could love him, _did_ love him, or maybe even that he would, given time, come to love him… Well, that was a fantasy Sam couldn’t afford to live in, not really. No angel could possibly ever love an abomination like him.

Pressing his lips together tightly, Sam closed his eyes and turned his head away from the doorway, forehead still pressed to the stone wall of the Bunker. Sweat made his skin sticky, made the cool surface of the stone pleasant on his skin. Damp strands of hair fell forward over his forehead. Pushing them back, Sam wondered if there was going to be more conversation between his brother and his brother’s angel, but they appeared to have fallen silent. Cracking his eyes open, Sam dared another peek around the corner.

Castiel was sitting where he had been, though he’d moved to lean forward, linking his fingers together and resting them in his lap. Dean, meanwhile, had got up and started pacing. His boots were making faint scraping sounds on the wooden floor, his jeans whispering as they scraped together. Taking a deep breath, Sam prepared to step out.

The smell of sweat clinging to him didn’t fill him with confidence, but he was about to do it anyway, about to take that small, revealing step out into the library.

Castiel opened his mouth, asked, “Does Sam feel this way? For me, I mean?”

“As opposed to feeling that way about the toaster?” Dean quipped, then let out a heavy sigh. He ran rough hands over his face, catching on his stubble. With a slight frown, Sam noted that Dean needed a shave, badly. He shook the thought off. Bated breath held prisoner in his chest, Sam awaited Dean’s answer. “Yeah, he does.”

A sinking sensation grew within Sam, forcing his eyes closed once more. Telling Castiel about his feelings wasn’t at the top of the list of things he wanted Dean to do, but there his brother was doing it anyway.

It wasn’t that Sam cared that Dean had told Castiel, he could handle that, but it felt wrong. If Sam had feelings for Castiel, and he did, _Chuck_ he did, he ought to tell the angel about them himself. Castiel deserved to hear about it from Sam, not from Sam’s big brother. Though, Sam supposed that, if he’d had his way, Castiel wouldn’t have been told at all.

“Sammy and I spoke about it,” From the creak Dean’s abandoned chair gave, Sam suspected Dean had thrown himself down into it again. Looking up from under lowered eyelids, he saw that he was right. “I thought you didn’t stand a chance before, Man.”

“But I do?” Castiel’s brow rose, his head tilting to the side this time. A faint flush of fondness rushed through Sam, even in the circumstances. The gesture was just so _Cas_ that Sam couldn’t help himself. A small smile graced his lips. “How do you know?”

“Because Sam is, apparently… not gay,” Dean’s words were stilted, uncertain. Sam wanted to rush to Dean’s rescue, tell him the word he was looking for was bisexual, but Castiel’s presence in the room stopped him. Embarrassing himself in front of the angel now was just something he couldn’t bring himself to do. He was finally going to learn if he had a chance with Castiel or not, and he had to _know_. He just _had_ to. “I don’t actually know what he is.” Dean bit his lip, shrugged, then said, “I know he’s had relationships with men and women.”

“Bisexual is probably the word you are looking for,” Castiel supplied helpfully, interrupting Dean. Classic Castiel, interrupting people at the most important moments. “I believe that is what Sam would describe himself as, if asked.”

“Yeah, great, whatever,” Dean dismissed, rolling his eyes. Sam couldn’t blame him. For all he loved the angel, even he had to admit that Castiel could be infuriating from time to time. It came with him _still_ trying to understand human interactions, human mannerisms. “But the thing is, Sam has a thing for you. He said so. So, the real question is… Do you have a thing for my little brother?”

Leaning forward, Sam held his breath. Desperation to hear the answer was rushing through him, sweeping through his veins like a drug, like a poison. He was certain that, if he didn’t find out the answer, it would crush him. He would be drawn back here, again and again in his memory, searching for any clue about the way Castiel felt.

If he did find out the answer, that could be just as bad. He might be left, crushed by the fact that Castiel didn’t care, couldn’t, not for the Boy with the Demon Blood.

Holding his breath, fingers clenched tightly around the doorframe, tinny beat of his headphones still thumping around his neck, Sam waited for Castiel’s answer.

He jumped, surprised. The music in his headphones had changed, switched to his ring tone. Closing his eyes and resisting the urge to groan, knowing it would draw Dean and Castiel’s attention to him, Sam slipped his phone out from his armband and looked at it, wondering if he could turn down the call.

He winced. It was Jack.

Regret that he wouldn’t hear Castiel’s answer shot through him, violent and infuriating, but he couldn’t turn Jack down. He just couldn’t. Jack was like a son to him and he didn’t deserve Sam’s ire. Not for this, not for anything. Well… Maybe for eating all the cereal in the Bunker again, but that was besides the point.

Pacing backwards into the hallway, almost slipping on the gleaming floor, Sam slid the bar across on his phone and pulled the headphones out of their jack. Bringing the cell to his ears, Sam said his hellos.

“Hello, Sam,” Jack responded cordially, though Sam could hear the faint undertone of panic in his ears. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

“No, Jack, it’s fine,” Sam soothed, slipping further down the hallway. Shadows were thicker here, so even if the other two did hear something, they wouldn’t be able to see him from where they sat in the library. “What’s up?”

“I am in Lebanon,” Jack began, causing Sam to furrow his brows. All thoughts of Castiel and Dean’s conversation flew out of his mind when he heard that. Jack was in Lebanon? Why? How? Last Sam had seen of him, merely a few hours ago, he’d been watching Netflix on his laptop. Sam had left him to it, knowing how Jack, just like Castiel, loved his TV time. “Max and her friends have found me.”

Wincing, Sam tightened his grip on the cell pressed to his ear. Last time Jack had seen Max and the others, Jack had caused them to panic massively. It had only been careful damage control Sam, Dean and Castiel had implemented that had stopped the good people of Lebanon from raising up an angry mob and marching upon the Bunker with pitchforks and torches.

“What are you in Lebanon for?!” Sam exclaimed, pinching his nose with his free hand. “Don’t answer that,” he interrupted, cutting Jack’s attempts to say something off. “Where are you, exactly? I’ll come and pick you up.”

“Thank you, Sam” Jack’s voice became much more cheerful after learning that Sam would help him, touching Sam. He’d always assumed that he’d be terrible at looking after a child, due to his own upbringing, but also his awkwardness around children when he was much younger. As he’d grown up, he’d got less awkward. Then, when he’d taken in Jack – because it _had_ been him that had taken Jack in – he’d realised that he wouldn’t be able to live without the kid. Not anymore. Jack was his son. “I will wait just outside of town.”

“Right,” Nodding, Sam felt himself beginning to pace. He wanted to rush to Jack’s side immediately, but he didn’t dare, not yet. He had to make sure Jack was really safe to leave first. Putting a hand out to steady himself against the wall, Sam continued to march back and forth restlessly. “Don’t interact with Max and the others, okay? Just… keep away from them.”

“I will.”

“Good,” Sam breathed out a small sigh of relief, pulling his hand away from the wall to run it through his hair instead. The smell of drying sweat washed over him and he groaned, but there was very little he could do about it. There was no time to shower. “Remember, they’re not actually the enemy. Don’t hurt them.”

Ever since Jack had lost his powers, Sam, Dean and Castiel had been showing him self-defence and hand-to-hand combat. Jack appeared to be a natural at it, but he still wasn’t entirely certain of when he should use it and when he shouldn’t. Most of the times, he didn’t even dare, too scared of how Lucifer had fooled him and how he could be fooled again to even try. It made Sam sad, but there was no immediate fix for it. All he and his family could do was their best for Jack.

“I won’t hurt them,” Jack promised, sounding like a moody kid. It made Sam smile, just a little. “I’ll be on the road in, Sam. I promise.”

“Okay,” Sam nodded, smiling sadly. Jack was so trusting, so good. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. See you then.”

“See you,” Jack’s voice was much lighter. Sam could already picture the smile, so much like Castiel’s it hurt, especially considering Jack shared no blood with the angel. The only difference between it was that Jack smiled far more often than Castiel ever did, something Sam wished would change, if only slightly. “Goodbye.”

“Bye, Jack,” Sam said softly, then took the cell from his ear, slid the end-call bar across.

Tucking his phone back into his arm band, ignoring the way the plastic began to stick to his tacky skin and itch, Sam crept back forwards towards the library. There was no harm in taking a couple of seconds to try and hear the end of Dean and Castiel’s conversation, after all.

Sneaking forward a few steps at a time, Sam tucked himself out of sight once again. Dean and Castiel had barely moved, still staring each other down. When Sam dared to glance at their faces, Castiel’s looked truly horrified. It sent a pang of fear through Sam’s chest. What if he learned that Castiel didn’t care for him, didn’t even _like_ him?

The angel opened his mouth, and the words he spoke were enough to pierce Sam through, a dagger straight to the heart.

“I would rather spend eternity with Naomi,” Castiel spoke slowly, clearly. His eyes drilled into Dean’s, unforgiving, hard. “Than do _that_ to your brother, Dean.”

The breath was punched out of Sam, leaving him winded, gasping silently for oxygen. None came.

Resisting the urge to cry – and he was going to, he knew it – Sam staggered backwards. Dean was saying something, he could hear the hum of Dean’s voice, but it was drowned out by the buzzing of his own ears. It sounded like a swarm of wasps had got in, ready to sting him mercilessly until he collapsed in a heap, aching and exhausted. None came, but Sam could still hear them. A lump rose in his throat, plugging it closed. No noise escaped, no breath entered.

Castiel would rather spend eternity with _Naomi_ than be with Sam? Chuck, what had Sam done to him? He knew he was a monster, knew he was the Boy with the Demon Blood, the Abomination, but still. It broke his heart to know Castiel still detested him that much, no matter the friendly front he often put on. Gaping wounds opened in Sam’s chest, letting his pain and hurt bleed out. Water descended over his vision, turning everything into wobbling shadows of themselves, but still he stumbled backwards. This was a conversation he wanted never to see the light of day again.

Feeling like he might be sick, Castiel’s words still ringing in his ears, Sam turned and fled deeper into the Bunker. Only the thought that he had to pick up Jack, had to make sure he was okay, stopped him from shutting himself in his room and staying there until he had worked through everything, had relearned his place in their little family group.

Gulping down his pain, ignoring the wound searing his chest, stabbing him mercilessly, without remorse, Sam carried on running, didn’t stop. He redirected himself from his room to the garage, rushing towards the Impala.

True to form, the keys were left in her, now they had a safe place to keep her. Dean always left them there, ready to start driving immediately. Thankful for it, Sam turned them and ignited the engine, throwing the car into drive.

Rubbing a hand across his eyes and blinking hard, Sam managed to clear them. Determinedly, he tightened his hands around the wheel, shoving his feelings down, deep, deep inside. Nobody needed to hear him whining and complaining about the chance he’d just lost, the chance he’d never really had. No, instead he’d help Jack, sort through his feelings at night while he was meant to be sleeping – he never did sleep well anyway – and act as if nothing had ever happened.

If Castiel could pretend that everything was fine around Sam when really he was disgusted by him, then Sam could pretend that everything was fine around the angel now he knew the truth. Breathing deeply, calming himself, Sam schooled his features into their usual fondness he directed towards Jack.

Pointing his car towards the young no-longer-nephil, Sam ordered himself to keep calm, to keep friendly and upbeat. Jack didn’t deserve to see Sam’s own struggles, he had enough of his own. 

With one last desperate half-sob, Sam put his foot on the pedal and sped towards Jack. Everything else, he could deal with later. Or at least, everything else he could come to terms with later. There was no real way of dealing with the fact that, after everything he had done to make up for all his failures, all his shortcomings, he _still_ wasn’t good enough, still wasn’t human enough for Castiel to want.

Tears pressing at his eyes again, held back only by his own force of will, Sam drove on to pick Jack up. At least the young boy had never thought less of Sam for what he was. By resolving himself against the hurt he had just endured, the hurt he would endure for some time yet, Sam knew he would never give Jack a reason to, either. Fingers blood-less white around the wheel, Sam sped on.


	3. What They Say About Assumptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel comes to talk with Sam. Sam's sure he knows what the talk is going to be about, but he finds himself sorely surprised. Though, sometimes, that can be a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'm not entirely sure the pacing is right, but I've done all I can to fix it. (I actually extended the word count by a few hundred words trying to improve it.) Still, like I said, I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

What They Say About Assumptions 

Sam lay back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, a boulder in his chest keeping him down. Ever since he’d heard what Castiel had said to Dean, he’d been dragged down by the weight of the knowledge. No matter how much he’d tried to buoy himself up by spending time with Jack, by exercising for the endorphins, even by eating chocolate – an activity he rarely partook in – he couldn’t bring his mood up.

Knowing that Castiel genuinely hated him, would rather spend an eternity with Naomi than be with him, was a fact he could not easily shake off. It clung to him relentlessly, pulling him down, turning his bones to concrete. It was all he had been able to do that evening to stumble to his room and lay himself on his bed, all his muscles screaming at him that sinking down onto the floor in a heap was the much more reasonable option. Not wanting Castiel or Dean to find him slumped in a pile was the only reason he had managed to make it to his room.

With a sigh, Sam rolled over. Under his head was a pillow, one that he wrenched out from beneath his cheek in a sudden fit of anger, only to slam it back down over his head. Secluded from the world by his makeshift pillow cave, Sam wished he could let out a scream. He couldn’t; no matter how much Castiel hated him, he knew that the angel would always come running to save him. For Dean, no doubt, but it had the same result. Castiel would come to his door, and Sam didn’t want to see the angel, not right then. He doubted he had the strength to carry out a normal conversation with him. Instead, Sam breathed deeply, allowing the musty smell of sheets that needed changing enter his nose.

Once again, Sam heaved out a sigh. Letting his eyes slip closed, he lay where he was, thoughts swirling around and always coming back to just one. The worst one. _Castiel hates me_.

Nevertheless, Sam found himself drifting off fairly quickly, Jack’s exuberance throughout the day enough to exhaust him, the exercise he’d done only adding to that feeling. Trapped in an everlasting circle of awful, damning thoughts, Sam knew he’d dream terrible dreams. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

It was just as he was finally slipping away to sleep that the knock came at his door. Startled, Sam jumped, sheets rucking up beneath him as they caught on his clothes. Blinking sleep out of his eyes, Sam turned over and sat up, pillow flopping down from his head into his lap. Mumbling a tired ‘come in’, Sam squinted blearily at the door, only for his heart to stop as it opened.

There, in the doorway, stood Castiel.

Gulping, Sam said, “Hey Cas,” his brows furrowed. Castiel hated him. Why was he at Sam’s door? “What’s up?”

With a squint, Castiel looked upwards and then back at Sam. Black brows were furrowed in confusion.

“The ceiling?” he hazarded. Sam was helpless to stop the corners of his lips from twitching upwards. No matter how the angel felt towards him, he still cared deeply for Castiel, loved him even. Very little was going to change that, only a great deal of time and all the luck in the world. Which, come to think of it, Sam probably didn’t have. Not if the way his life had gone was any indication, anyway.

“No,” Sam shook his head, hands twisting into the cotton case of his pillow. “I mean, why—”

A glint in Castiel’s eye caught Sam’s attention, brought him up short.

“You know what that phrase means, don’t you?” Sam guessed, cocking his head at Castiel. He quickly dropped the position when Castiel mirrored it, cursing himself for picking up on the angel’s habits. “You’re just trying to get a rise.”

“It always works with Dean,” Castiel shrugged, a slight smile tugging at his own lips. On Castiel, that was practically breaming. The thought of Dean had brought it to his lips, no doubt.

Shrugging, Sam simply said, “I’m not Dean.”

“You’re not,” Castiel agreed. His deep rumble didn’t give away to Sam if that were a bad thing or a good thing, but he could guess. From the conversation he’d overheard earlier between the angel and his brother, he was certain that him not being Dean was a bad thing. Sending his best apologetic look towards Castiel, Sam shifted backwards on the bed, tucking his legs into a criss-cross position like a child as he went.

“What do you want?” he asked, hugging the pillow to his chest. Realising what he was doing, he released it and shoved it behind him, hoping to appear normal. He got the feeling that he wasn’t succeeding, but what could he do? What could anyone do if they knew they were speaking to someone who despised them?

Instead of speaking, Castiel took a few paces forward into the room. His footsteps were quiet, almost as quiet as Dean’s or even Sam’s own. He’d been practising, Sam noted offhandedly. He flicked the thought away, unable to focus on it just then.

Once in the room, Castiel turned and shut the door behind him, letting it fall shut with a soft click. Sam darted his eyes to the side, wary, before looking back at the angel. What he’d done hadn’t given them true privacy – grates cut sections into the doors, leaving the rooms at least partially open at all times – but it gave the illusion of it. Nervously, Sam wondered if he ought to cry out for help. But this was Castiel. He’d never hurt Sam, even if only because Dean wouldn’t want him to.

“Dean spoke with me earlier,” Castiel began. Either he didn’t see Sam’s flinch or he ignored it, instead choosing to carry on speaking. “He convinced me that I should speak with you.”

“Oh,” Sam shook his head, affecting a lighter tone to his voice. He wasn’t feeling it – his insides were still as heavy as stone – but that didn’t mean he had to bring Castiel down. The angel hated him; he didn’t have to know what that hatred did to Sam. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Castiel cocked his head to the side. “You don’t know what we were talking about.”

“Um,” Sam bit his lip, looked away from Castiel’s narrowed eyes. Should he tell him he knew? It would certainly put Castiel’s mind at rest. It might even allow them to be more comfortable around each other, if both knew the other knew. Taking a deep breath, Sam closed his eyes and croaked out, “I heard you. Earlier. Talking to Dean. I know.”

“You know.” Castiel’s voice was flat, unimpressed.

“I know,” Sam agreed, a sharp nod accompanying his words. “And like I said,” he paused, gave Castiel a small smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

“So it is okay with you?” Castiel asked, clearly searching for clarification. Sam felt his face softening as he looked at Castiel. Even now, so many years after they’d first met, Castiel still struggled with human emotions. It was sweet, Sam thought, even if he didn’t have the right to find Castiel sweet. Even if he’d never actually had the right.

“Even if it wasn’t,” he said, repositioning himself. By his hip, his fingers picked at the coverlet. An elastic plucking sounded throughout the room. “There’s nothing I can do about it. You can’t change the way you feel, Cas.”

“That is true,” Castiel conceded, taking a few more steps forward. “I hoped you would be happier.”

_Happier_? Sam narrowed his eyes at Castiel, furrowed his brows. What did the angel mean? He’d overheard Castiel telling Dean – despite Dean’s insistence to Sam that Castiel had a thing for him – that he hated him. Sam wasn’t an expert on emotional reactions, but he was fairly certain that _happy_ wasn’t the right one for the situation.

Squinting, with his head cocked to the side and a troubled expression plastered to his face, Sam just stared at Castiel. Eventually, the angel let out a sigh.

“Dean seemed to think you,” he raised his fingers, mimicked air quotes stiffly. “Had a thing for me.”

“Um,” Sam said again, unsure where the conversation was going. “What?”

“Dean said you had romantic feelings for me,” Castiel tried again. He paused then, gaze going distant. Shrugging helplessly, he added, “Or carnal feelings for me.”

Sam found himself mouthing the word ‘carnal’. His mind blanked completely for a moment, unable to make a connection to that word, thinking only of clowns. A brief shudder ran through him, one that Castiel _did_ see. The angel’s shoulders slumped, a look of disappointment crossing his features, though why Sam couldn’t guess. It took a few moments for Sam to associate the word carnal with anything else, but when he finally made the connection…

“Carnally?” Sam’s voice was raised just a little too loudly. Surprised, he lowered it, listening hard beyond the door to make sure nobody was listening in. He heard what sounded suspiciously like feet shuffling over the flagstones in the corridor, but he ignored it. It was probably just Castiel, shifting before him. Focusing back on Castiel, who was now wearing his customary confused face, Sam asked, “Dean said that?”

Looking sheepish, Castiel admitted, “He may not have used those exact words.”

“I didn’t think so,” Sam shook his head. “He said that I had feelings for you and that I needed to get laid, didn’t he?”

“It was more along those lines, yes,” Castiel agreed, taking another few steps forward. He was at the end of Sam’s bed now, close enough that Sam could smell hints of ozone, brief flashes of lightening. Unlike the smell of any other angel, Castiel’s was comforting, known, _trusted_. “It is why I thought I ought to talk with you.”

“Right, yes,” Sam nodded, dropping his gaze to his lap. He regretted shoving the pillow behind him now, but grabbing it again would only make him look nervous. Whether or not Castiel was going to break his heart, tear it to shreds in an attempt to keep Sam away from him with his ‘carnal’ desires, he didn’t need Castiel seeing how nervous he was. His heart fluttered in his chest, his blood pumping harder than it should have been. Briefly, Sam wondered if Castiel could hear his heartbeat, could feel the blood pumping through his body. It was a daunting prospect.

Awkwardly – he was still so awkward, after all this time. It was what made him so endearing to Sam – Castiel hitched his pant legs up, sat himself down at the foot of Sam’s bed. Realising that this put him in a position with his back to Sam, Castiel spun himself around with some difficulty. Legs splayed in front of him, the angel faced Sam. Carefully, slowly, so as not to garner attention, Sam pulled his limbs tighter into his body. He didn’t want to be touching Castiel if the angel disliked him so much. He didn’t know if he could handle touching the angel at the same time as he listened to the angel in question telling him, in no uncertain terms, to leave him alone.

Together, they both sat facing each other, neither one looking away. Silence fell heavy in the room, sticky like tar, keeping both of them locked in place.

Eventually, Sam felt the need to break the silence.

“So…?” he prompted, brows raised. If Castiel wanted to tell him to stay away, that was fine. It was the incredibly long pauses that was really ruining Sam. Being rejected was one thing, but drawing it out slowly? That was cruel.

Still Castiel said nothing. To be fair to him, Sam thought, he did look as if he were trying. His mouth was open, his lips half-forming aborted words, his brows furrowed in deep concentration. It wasn’t the angel’s fault that he couldn’t find the words to say what needed to be said. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in through his nose, breathing in Castiel’s ozone and lightning scent one last time, Sam decided to take pity on him, to say the words that needed to be said.

“Dean told you how I feel,” Sam began, keeping his eyes locked on his desk as Castiel’s dark blue eyes shot to him. “So now you’re here to tell me to stay away from you.”

“Stay away from me?” Castiel asked, a frown pulling the corners of his lips downwards. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you don’t like me?” Sam asked, confusion colouring his words. “I’d go so far as to say you hated me. At the very least, you don’t want anything to do with me. Indifference, maybe?” he shrugged, unable to find the correct words to explain what he’d overheard to an angel who _still_ hadn’t grasped human emotions properly, after all this time. Despite everything, despite the way his heart was beating slow and heavy, practically on the verge of no longer beating at all, he felt the warm rush of affection for Castiel shoot through him, piercing the cold darkness inside.

“I don’t like you,” again Castiel’s voice was flat, monotone. It was only when he repeated himself that that changed, becoming a query. “I don’t like you?”

“I heard you,” Sam felt the need to point out. Obviously, the angel had forgotten what he had told Dean. “You said you’d rather spend an eternity with Naomi than be with me.”

Confusion was twisting Castiel’s features, practically screwing them up like paper into a ball. His head was cocked further to the side than Sam had ever seen it, lips slightly open as if he were going to say something, but couldn’t quite work out what. Blue eyes flickered up and down over Sam, as if they couldn’t quite believe what they were seeing. Perhaps Castiel was wondering how Sam could be so composed.

A laugh bubbled its way up to Sam’s chest, catching at his sternum. He was only composed on the outside. Inside, he was flying apart at the seams.

“I did not say that,” Castiel finally decided upon, folding his arms over his chest. The overall result was pretty much that of a toddler mid-tantrum, but Sam thought it best not to tell Castiel that. It wouldn’t do to embarrass the angel on top of everything else. Still, the discordancy between their conversation and Castiel’s position jangled within Sam, making the laugh churn harder at his sternum, working it’s way up to his throat, begging to be released. His eyes pricked, tears ready to be released. Whether they were for sobs or laughter, Sam didn’t know. Whatever they were for, he couldn’t let them escape.

With a shrug, Sam allowed, voice tight, “Maybe not with those precise words.”

“I used those words,” Castiel confessed, repositioning his arms so they sat tighter to his body. Sam wanted to reach out, touch them, persuade him to drop them to his sides again. Instead, he reached up, twisted his fingers into his own flannel, plucking at the orange and brown checks. “But that is not what I meant by them.”

“Pretty difficult to misunderstand them, Cas,” Sam told him, voice sticking in his throat. He tried to swallow, but all he could manage was a dry click. “They can’t really be taken any other way.”

“I said I would rather spend an eternity with Naomi than hurt you, Sam!” Castiel jumped in, barely letting Sam finish his sentence. “Dean told me not to hurt you.”

Everything in Sam came to an abrupt halt. Even his breath stopped, catching in his lungs and staying there. Eyes wide, fingers tangled in his shirt, Sam raised his head to meet Castiel’s gaze head on.

“What?” he croaked.

“Dean told me not to hurt you,” Castiel explained, finally letting his arms drop to his lap. “If I tried to start a romantic relationship with you.”

“So you said…” Sam’s voice was a whisper. In his chest, hope blossomed like a flower, unfurling gently, still small, but _there_. “You said…”

“That I’d rather spend an eternity with Naomi than hurt you, Sam,” Castiel leaned forwards, legs still splayed forwards. His eyes searched Sam’s desperately, searching for any sign of understanding, recognition. Sam let his eyes do the same, let Castiel’s expression tell the story that Sam needed to know, to understand. It was beginning to sound a lot better than he had thought. Far, _far_ better. “I love you.”

“What?” Sam’s voice was tremulous. When he unclenched his fingers from his shirt, when he raised them to run through his hair, they shook. It was almost infinitesimal, but Sam could still feel it. Castiel reached out to take his hand, to still the trembling. His skin was dry, hands calloused, but yet they felt so good against Sam’s own scarred hands. “You can’t just say things like that, Castiel. I’m the Boy with the Demon Blood, remember? You can’t—”

“But I do,” Castiel interrupted, cocking his head to the side again. This time, it made Sam smile. He felt his crows feet crinkling, felt his lips pulling upwards, though his brows still pulled down. It was hard to believe what Castiel was saying. “Love you, I mean. Your blood has nothing to do with it, though I admit I should probably have told you that it didn’t matter to me at some point.”

“I…” Sam released a breath. It caught on a laugh, one that came out almost hysterical sounding, but softened into a chuckle. Still, it was difficult to believe. The idea floated on the surface of his mind, refusing to sink in. It was like it was wearing a life-vest, and no matter how much the ocean of his mind tried to pull it down, it refused to submerge. “I… I don’t… You said…”

“Samuel Winchester,” the shock of hearing his full name snapped Sam out of his spiralling thoughts, brought his attention back to the there and then. “I may have thought of you that way once, but no more. You may have demon blood within your veins, but your actions are what count. You have done a great many good deeds, Sam.”

“No,” Sam shook his head, denying it. “Castiel…”

“You have,” Castiel’s tone brooked no argument, his features stern, eyes just daring Sam to argue with him. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Sam swallowed down his protests, resolved against shaking his head. “You are a good man, Sam Winchester. One that I love.”

“You really…” Sam swallowed, body tipping forward. He wanted to press his face against something, could feel his cheeks heating up and cooling down at the same time. He didn’t know how to respond to Castiel’s words, decided he would ignore them for a while. They centred around an issue Sam had been carrying since he’d _found out_ about the blood. Castiel’s argument wasn’t going to get rid of them in one afternoon. No, instead he would focus on Castiel’s other words. “You really shouldn’t just blurt things like that out, Castiel.” 

“But I do love you,” Castiel argued, simple as that. It was almost as if he were telling Sam the weather, not confessing his hidden feelings.

Again, Sam found himself resisiting the urge to shake his head. Now, though, hope was really blossoming in his chest, multiple blooms taking over, sending away the dark despair of before. The ocean of self-loathing, of despair, was being drunk by the roots of those blooms, allowing the idea that Castiel really did love him to sink down, touch the bedrock of his mind, burrow in. It would take a while, Sam knew, but now the chance to believe was there. It was. Warmth spread through him, his heart picking up its beating. A small smile curled at the corners of his lips.

“How did you misunderstand what I said?” Castiel asked, fingers tightening around Sam’s own. Sam let his thumb brush over Castiel’s knuckles, threw his mind back to when he had been eavesdropping on their conversation. Realisation dawned hard and heavy in his belly, leaving his cheeks heating redder and redder, a fire getting hotter.

Sheepishly, he admitted, “Jack called me. I… I took a call in the middle of the conversation.” He gave a soft snort, embarrassment tucking his chin down to his chest. “I guess I lost the context, huh?”

“You did,” Castiel agreed, shaking his head as if fond. More heat rose in his cheeks like fire, leaving Sam wondering if they could possibly get so hot he actually _burned_ , but he couldn’t bring himself to complain. Instead, he let out an embarrassed chuckle, using his free hand to rub at his forehead, to push his hair back. “You are an idiot, Sam Winchester.”

“Thanks,” Sam drawled, but he found that the insult didn’t sting, not like it would have before he realised that he had misunderstood so badly. Silence fell briefly between them, one that wasn’t heavy or sticky, but light and tickly. It felt like anticipation. “So… You really love me?” Sam asked, looking up at Castiel from under his lashes. “For real?”

“I really love you,” Castiel confirmed, pulling Sam forward by his hand. With both of his own hands, Castiel guided Sam’s own up to his lips. A soft kiss was pressed against the back of his hand, stubble brushing stingingly against his skin. It brought a lump to Sam’s throat again, but this time for a different reason. It was so soft, so different from anything Sam had had in such a long time. Blinking wetly, he let out another gentle laugh. “You are wonderful, Sam Winchester, and if you will have me, I would like to… court you?”

The way Castiel’s little speech trailed off into a confused question was so Castiel it was perfect. Sam felt a smile stretching his face so wide it almost hurt. Then he was up on his knees, shuffling towards Castiel faster than the angel could blink. Before Castiel knew it, Sam was kneeling between his splayed legs, holding Castiel’s face in his hands. The angel’s stubble tickled against his palms, his hair curled around the tips of Sam’s fingers. Wide blue eyes looked up at Sam, hope shining in their depths.

With a grin, Sam promised, “I’d love that. I love you, too, Castiel. I think Dean mentioned. Idiot.” He said fondly, rolling his eyes. Letting his mind cast back to the conversation he’d overheard, seriousness overtook him again. Biting his lip, he shifted guiltily. “I’m sorry I accused you of hating me. I guess eavesdroppers never hear anything good, huh?”

“I believe that is the phrase,” Castiel agreed, attempting to nod. His ability was hindered by Sam’s hands, still cupping his face, but it didn’t seem to bother the angel. Instead, he raised his eyes back up to Sam’s soft gaze and asked, “Can I kiss you?”

“I was going to ask _you_ that,” Sam confessed, then leaned down with a smile, not giving Castiel a chance to reply.

Closing his eyes, Sam let his lips brush over the angel’s, gentle at first and then with more pressure. This close, Sam could smell ozone and lightning like never before, the crackle of it filling all his senses, getting his blood pounding around his body like water pounded over a waterfall. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, could taste the sharpness of electricity on Castiel’s lips. He flicked his tongue out, wanting more.

With a gasp, Castiel let his mouth fall open, welcomed Sam’s tongue. Sam swept inside, exploring, caressing. In his mouth, Castiel tasted like burnt coffee, burnt air, burnt anything. It was as if the lightning had struck, burned everything in its wake, and now it was burning Sam. He felt hot all over, blood pumping, limbs tingling with the simple pleasure of kissing Castiel. Beneath his palms, Sam could feel the buzz Castiel was giving off, the surprised and delighted hum of it. The corners of Sam’s mouth pulled up, too far up for him to continue with his kissing. Instead, he broke away from Castiel, keeping his forehead pressed to the angel’s. Castiel, for his part, tried to pull Sam back into it, fingers tugging on his shirt where they’d been twisting while they kissed.

“I would like another kiss, please,” Castiel asked, sounding almost breathless, though Sam knew he couldn’t be. He was just about to lean in and give Cas one when he heard a quiet whooping from outside the door.

“Dean!” he yelled, a laugh lingering on his lips. Faintly, he heard running footsteps, Dean yelling that Sam hadn’t heard anything, then calling for Jack, probably to share the good news. Spell broken, Sam pressed his burning face into Castiel’s shoulder and laughed long and hard, hands clutching Castiel’s upper arms. When he finally pulled back, Castiel looked utterly bewildered and a little put out.

“You didn’t tell me Dean was listening in,” Sam accused, letting go of Castiel’s arms and reaching up to straighten Castiel’s tie. It was a pointless endeavour, considering the rest of his outfit was so ruffled, more so than usual, but it helped settle him. “That was probably something to mention, Cas.”

“Was it?” Castiel asked, looking so confused and worried that Sam couldn’t help but lean in and press a quick peck to his lips. It seemed to mollify the angel – _his_ angel – just a little.

“Yes, it was,” Sam nodded, unhooking Castiel’s fingers from his shirt. With ease, Sam interlocked their fingers, looked down to study their linked hands. “Imagine if he’d missed some of it, got the wrong impression.”

“We’d just explain it to him,” Castiel decided, voice as steady and logical as always. It made Sam’s smile stretch wider, grow happier. “It seems as if good things come from talking to one another.”

“Mm, it does,” Sam agreed, moving backwards on the bed. Castiel’s fingers were still interlocked with his, so the angel had little choice but to move, too. Together, they made their way up to the headboard and leant back against the pillows. Shoulder pressed to shoulder they reclined, Sam letting his head drift to Castiel’s shoulder. He breathed out a content sigh, feeling his earlier tiredness return. This time, though, there was none of the horror, none of the fear of nightmares. This time, there was only contentment. “I love you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of Castiel’s hand.

“I love you, too,” Castiel reassured him, fingers of his spare hand running through Sam’s hair. “And I will tell you often enough that you don’t begin to doubt.”

Sam wanted to tell him that it was unnecessary, but he couldn’t. He knew as well as Castiel obviously did that he had low self-esteem, that he worried whether people could love him or not. He knew that his demonic nature would be an issue between the two of them, even if only on his end. He knew he had made so many mistakes in his past that it seemed unlikely that anybody ever would love him, but here Castiel was, proving that thought wrong, promising to always prove that thought wrong.

With a contented sigh, Sam shoved his worried thoughts away and settled more heavily against Castiel, glad that their little misunderstanding had been sorted out. Knowing the truth about things, being told directly about things, was so much better than overhearing something and not understanding properly. Glad that he finally had the truth, knowing they’d have all the time in the world to talk out other issues that cropped up between them – demon blood and bad decisions and disagreements long since passed – Sam didn’t hesitate to let himself drift off, hand still clutched in Castiel’s. There would be no nightmares that night. 


End file.
